


someone will remember us, i say

by THESEUSED



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon), Tangled (2010)
Genre: this really has no rhyme or reason, vent drabble thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22791391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THESEUSED/pseuds/THESEUSED
Summary: She was the light despite a tired dying day, and Cassandra fought back a venomous glare.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	someone will remember us, i say

Cassandra strides, tall grass brushing against her legs and she wishes she could feel the natures blade against her skin, shifting her dress even if as light as a feather. Cassandra strides, black armour; leather like reptiles and a grace she believes only hell would bear, bear to waltz that tango of revenge around golden thread and seize it; for gold does not belong in a land of bleak black and red. 

Felidae-like, she prowls; slitted eyes and a rumble deep in her chest and she leans down to hide against nature; with nature; praying her brilliant blue would blend with rich green and healthy oaks. She holds her anger up like a flag, showing of her home and pride and being taken as surrender by foolish eyes. She is home inside her fury, she is home inside her stronghold of revenge. 

And caves of fearful glowing green and toxins with nothing to promise but death had been Cassandra’s good day; a moment to feel a smile of soft cloud tug at her lips and drink in the sight of the honey-haired princess before her — no, next to her, smiling like the sun she was despite any threat the cavern posed; bats, moles, and mothers existed to devour her, yet the princess seemed to fear no thing, whether it be ghost or creature. 

She was the light despite a tired dying day, and Cassandra fought back a venomous glare. 

Memories will lead her back to arguments, because the moonstone wants to think nothing but ill, petty disagreements and too much waiting; Cassandra prowled even in her silk dress, she jerked away and bristled at anything that sat a threat to her mind in any form. Positivity, negativity, a lack of any control or knowledge; she smothered it and left. (Times she was caught wasn't so bad, she was quite overdramatic in thought.)

Rapunzel stands a loving figure, true to her role as she has everyone swooning over such elegance, such friendliness, a positivity enough to make Cassandra find hilarity and both shame in disliking her, in having a reason to dislike her. She is loved by so many and yet Cassandra sits unheard, by Rapunzel and by everyone, and thus no man will ever know how terrible she feels the princess had been to her. 

She's conversed with her in daydreams; in dreams; never nightmares for every thought of the Princess was a blissful sigh of skin against velvet silk. Cassandra fiercely hated that Rapunzel was much like honey and sweetener, and despite hating the woman she still finds that she’d fancy the taste of coffee with those two very things. She bites the bottom of her lip and lets out a scoff, settling with her thoughts. It's back and forth between love and hate, and the woman is yearning. The moonstone is yearning. 

And to it, she'll seethe. 

To it, she'll command black rocks upwards to dance her rage for her; to slam against wall of stone and to hear the angry cries of rock against smashing rock, to deafen her own screams with shrieking, ear-splitting sounds of nature and bask in the heart-aching fury she's brought upon herself, she's wrapping herself in that blanket of rage and drying her tears with it; her rage keeps her alive, her rage makes her strong. She's unable to cry because her throat feels torn, and her head throbs every time she risks a dry sob. She ends the rage exhausted.

Rare times, she'll sob; and when it comes to Rapunzel, she sobs. It comes when she has no energy to be angry, when missing her becomes a fire. The woods were once lovely, dark, and deep; it now is blinding and bright, her home once comfortable, lit aflame and forcing her to flee. She digs her fingers into the ground and lets out a sickening wail, her thoughts stressed and changing ever so fast. Body wracking, she places her forehead against the ground when her body crumbles.


End file.
